


Breakfast At Timpani’s

by SevenSeasOfSigh



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Based off Movie, Happy Ending, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Queen - Freeform, brians nervous, cross dressing, roger is an adventurous little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenSeasOfSigh/pseuds/SevenSeasOfSigh
Summary: The story of a young man, Roger, in New York City who meets another young man, Brian, when he moves into his apartment building. Brian is with an older, wealthy woman and wants to be a writer. Roger is working as an expensive escort and searching for a way to make it in the big city.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. The Peculiar Boy and His Nameless Cat

_**Fall of 1970** _

A cab pulls up in the early dawn, stopping among the empty streets lines with skyscrapers that poked along the atmosphere. It was seven on the Thursday morning, a young man emerging from the cab with his hair done up and face perfected with various products. He looked elegant in the feminine fashion, pears draping over his neck and gloves up to his elbows.

There he was, walking down the street with a coffee and pastry from a small shop on Fifth Avenue, the young man stopped in front of Timpani's, the music store that never failed to catch his eye. He peered through the window, a hint of a smile on his face as he sipped his coffee and pushed his sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose.

He paused to admire the pristine silver drum kit that sat in the window, perfect and untouched. Untuned, he just knew it. He knew that one day, it could be his. If only he had the money.

He took another bite of the pastry, sparing one final look at the kit before turning on his heels and making his way done the nearly empty street to go back to his small apartment.

He admired the city, much to early for anyone to be bustling about. He passed the various buildings before reaching his own and pausing before crossing the street.

He frowned at the sight of the car parked in front of his building, the man in the front street met his eye before he quickly made his way towards his apartment. When he heard the car door open, he quickened his pace and ran inside.

"Miss Taylor! Miss Taylor, please!"

He ignored the pleadings with a roll of the eyes, wrestling with his keys at the door.

"Hey, baby. Why'd you run?" The man asked, shutting the door and peering down at him.

"Oh, hi." He gave him a small, polite smile.

"Where'd you go last time. You took off for the powder room and that's the last I saw of you!" The man pressed, crossing his arms.

"It's nothing personal, Harry. I just had to leave. Something came up." The young man shrugged, sighing when he couldn't find his key. He pressed the buzzer a few times until he heard the unlock.

"My name's Sid! Harry was the other guy! You like me, remember?"

"Well, dear, if I liked you, don't you think I'd remember your name?" He challenged, a smirk on his face as he headed towards his door.

"What? You like me! I'm a liked guy! Wasn't I the one that picked up the check for you and your two friends? I gave you fifty dollars for the powder room, doesn't that give me some rights?" Sid argued, grabbing his arms.

"I can't be bought, Harry." He replied, pulling out of his grip before opening the door to his apartment and slamming the door in his face.

"It's Sid!" Sid yelled through the door.

"Oh, tomato, tomahto!" He scoffed, unpinning his hair and letting it fall just above his shoulders.

One day he'd leave this all behind, just as soon as he got the money.

With a yawn, he slipped out of his clothes and into his bed, grabbing a wipe and cleaning all the makeup off his face before burying his face in the pillow with his eye mask snuggly resting over his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He'd worry about showering when he woke up.

It wasn't long before the god awful buzzing noise filled his ears - loud enough to break through his earplugs and cause an instant headache, perhaps a few hours of sleep was what he had gotten. He felt the cat jump onto his back and swat at him in attempt to wake him up. He lifted his head off the pillow, pushing the mask up to glance at the cat as he grabbed his nightshirt and threw it on. It was long enough to cover down to the middle of his thighs, so he deemed it appropriate enough to peek through the door to see who it was that was trying to get buzzed up.

Drowsily, he stumbled over to the door and pressed the button to buzz them in before opening to door to look down the steps to see who was coming up. He blinked tiredly when he was met with the sight of fluffy hair. How...peculiar?

"I'm sorry to wake you, they gave me the downstairs key." The man said, lugging his bags up the stairs. He watched him curiously, tilting his head. "Sorry- I'm sorry to wake you they gave me-"

Roger raised his eyebrows, pulling the earplug from his ear.

"They, uh, gave me the wrong key." He repeated sheepishly. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"Don't worry, happens a lot." He yawned, going to close the door when the stranger grabbed it with a shy blush.

"Could I ask you one more favor?" The man was shy, awkward really. A lanky man with puffy hair, made him smile a bit.

"And what would that be?" The young man asked, raising his eyebrows. He wasn't in much of a mood for another man today, he'd made enough money for the week last night.

"Could I use your telephone?" He asked sheepishly. He seems exhausted enough, turning him away just seemed wrong.

"Oh, alright. Come on in." He opened the door and let him slide in before shutting the door and looking around. "I'm assuming you just moved in." He said over his shoulder.

"Yeah, moving upstairs actually. You did too?" The man motioned around the mostly empty apartment.

"No, no, I've been here about a year." He chuckled. "I'm Roger Taylor."

"Brian May. Nice to meet you." Brian smiled shyly, shuffling his feet as to shake off his awkwardness.

"You needed something..." Roger furrowed his eyebrows before his face lit up with a smile. "Right! The phone!"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be meeting someone." Brian made his way over to the couch...or was it a tub? "That's an interesting couch." He commented.

"Oh, this thing? I found it in an alley. A friend of mine helped me turn it into a couch. He says it's absolutely darling. I think it's just rubbish." Roger shrugged, patting the white porcelain and eyeing the bright cushions. "But you're right. It is interesting. Now what was I doing?"

"The phone." Brian smiled a bit, watching Rogers face light up again.

"Right, right. It's got to be around here somewhere." Roger muttered to himself before 'ah-ing' loudly. "I put it in this suitcase a few days ago! Muffles the sound." He chuckled, opening the suitcase and pulling out the phone and handing it to the taller man who took it with a confused look.

"Get a lot of calls?" Brian asked curiously.

"Enough to want to lock my phone away in a suitcase." Roger chuckled, standing up from his makeshift couch and stretching. He cringed when he saw the cat jump up onto Brian's shoulders with a loud cry.

"Is he alright?" Brian's eyes were wide with worry as the cat sat on his shoulders.

"He's fine, just dramatic." Roger rolled his eyes, picking the cat up off his shoulders. "Aren't you, cat? You poor old cat, nameless slob. Just a smelly old bastard."

"He hasn't got a name?" Brian cocked an eyebrow, pushing the phone to the side. He wasn't interested in call his friend much anymore.

"What right do I have to name him? He doesn't belong to me and I don't belong to him. I don't feel like owning much or anything until I find a nice place to live. Someplace that I belong, you know?" Roger plopped back down on the couch, letting the cat run away. "I don't know where the place is. Could be here in New York, maybe London. Just as long as it makes me feel the way I do when I go to Timpani's."

"You mean the music store down the street?" Brian looked at him curiously as he nodded.

"It's the best place in the whole bloody city." Roger grinned, leaning back into his couch. "Soon as I find a place in the world like that, maybe I'll buy a real couch and give the cat a name. Wait, aren't you supposed to call somebody?"

Brian nodded, sighing a bit to himself. "I'm supposed to meet someone, yeah. It is Thursday, isn't it?"

"Today's Thursday?" Rogers eyes widened. "Shit!" He exclaimed, running back into his bedroom.

"Not a fan of Thursday?" Brian craned his neck to see the blond struggling with a hairbrush.

"I've got somewhere to be today. I'm going down to Sing Sing!" He yelled from his room, pining up his hair. Much to Brian's confusion, he grabbed a dress and ran into the bathroom.

"You don't mean the prison, do you?" He cleared his throat, standing up and walking into the bedroom.

"I do, actually." Roger peeked his head out with a grin. "Just visiting, of course."

"Of course..." Brian echoed, glancing around the room.

"Oh, don't get so pale! Just a friend of mind, Sally Tomato. Gives me a hundred dollars every Thursday. All I have to do is talk to him for a while and give a strange little weather report to his lawyer." Roger shrugged, slipping back into the bathroom and locking it. "Do you see and pink shoes out there?"

Brian looked around, grabbing one off the ground before searching some more. The matching shoe wasn't anywhere to be found.

"He pays you?" Brian day back on the bed, wondering how he got into this situation. He wasn't upset, more so interested - maybe even fascinated.

"Not personally, his lawyer does. Called me a few months ago and asked if I'd like to keep an old man company and make a hundred dollars a week. Almost said no, as I could get that anytime I take a trip the powder room." The door unlocked and Roger came out with a made up face and long black gown.

"You're a woman?" Brian gaped, staring at him as if he had two heads, Roger bursting into laughter at the question.

"No, of course not! This only pays the bills" Roger grinned and put a hand out. "Shoes?"

Brian blinked and handed him the pink shoe with a confused frown. "I couldn't find the other."

Roger took it with a shrug, scoping around his bedroom before pulling it from under his pillow. He slipped them on and headed for the door as Brian followed. They silently made their way downstairs, exiting the building as a taxi pulled up.

"Brian! Oh, I'm sorry I'm late. Did you get inside alright?" An older woman, probably about forty or so, emerged from the cab, immediately walking to Brian and cupping his cheeks. "So sorry, dear."

"It's alright, my neighbor let me in. This is uh..." Brian bit his lip, looking down at the blond who had a cheeky smile on his face.

"Liz. Pleased to meet you." Roger shook her hand with a grin. Brian gaped at the posh voice he used.

"And you.” She eyed him for a moment before turning back to Brian. “Isn’t she lovely.”

“Uh, Liz, this is Chrissie my...decorator.” Brian shuffled his feet nervously introducing the older woman.

Roger eyed the woman with a smirk, looking back at Brian’s nervous posture. “Sure she is.” He waved his hand, opening the door to the cab. “It was nice meeting you, Chrissie the decorator.” He said before climbing into the cab and telling the man the address.

Brian watched as the cab drove away and Chrissie pulled him inside and up the stairs. His mind was flooded with the sight of Roger earlier, his slightly wavy blond hair just above his shoulders and bright blue eyes heavy with sleep. He couldn’t get him out of his mind.

How very peculiar.


	2. Fifty For The Powder Room

Between angry drunken screaming and pitiful declarations of love, Roger had enough. Grabbing the orange tabby, he slipped into the bathroom and locked the door with a sigh.

"Right psycho he is, isn't he, cat?" Roger huffed, leaning against the wall as the yelling continued. He stared down at the stack of bills he'd been given for his 'companionship'. He always made sure to demand payment up front, as many nights ended like this one.

Unfortunately, it happened at his own flat rather than the mans who was currently screaming in his lounge.

Slipping out of his dress, he pulled on a bathrobe and exhaled slowly as he stared in the mirror. Smudged lipstick made his stomach twist before he grabbed a towel, dampening it with the water from the sink and wiping the makeup away the best he could before washing his face off completely.

Another blow to the door pulled him from his thoughts, making him jump and stare at the door with wide eyes. He didn't want to see where things would lead with the large drunk man in his flat.

"I'll see you later, Cat." Roger said, sliding the window open and climbing out to the fire escape. It was late, about four am last time he'd checked. Sleeping didn't seem likely at his own place until the man decided to calm down and/or leave.

It was far too cold to sit out on the fire escape all night, so he decided he'd climb up to his friend, Freddie's, flat. It truly was his god-honest intention, until his eyes were drawn in towards the window that was illuminated by soft lamp light.

He watched with curious eyes as the older woman from earlier pressing a kiss to the sleeping man who had woken him up that morning. He swore his eyebrows were up in his hairline when he saw her leave a wad of cash on the table before exiting the apartment. He shook his head before another crash was heard from his own flat, causing him to quickly open up the window.

Brian must be a pretty light sleeper, as the sound of the window opening made him jump awake in a slight panic.

"Don't worry, it's just me." Roger gave him a quick grin. "Mind if I come in?"

The initial shock to a moment to recover from, the older man gripping the blanket close in order to cover himself.

"Look, Mr..." Brian seemed a bit stumped in his half-asleep state, so Roger just chuckled in response.

"Taylor. Roger Taylor. We met this morning when your decorator friend sent you the wrong key." He said climbing through the window. "And don't worry, she's gone. Works some late hours for a decorator, I must say."

"She's, uh, pretty dedicated to her craft...I guess." Brian rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Did...Did you need something?"

"Right! I have the most horrifying man downstairs tearing my flat apart. He's nice when he's sober, usually pays double what I ask, but drunk?" Roger shuttered. "Lucky I didn't get a black eye from him, those are bloody hard to cover up and I'd lose out on some trips to the powder room...if you know what I mean."

"They hit you?" Brian sat up, a deep frown on his face.

"Yes, but when they do, they pay a bit more to make up for it." Roger shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. "Most of them anyway."

"Well...that doesn't make it right." Brian's eyebrows were furrowed as he desperately tried to make sense of the situation.

"A lot of things in life aren't right, Bri." Roger took a drag before blowing the smoke out slowly and examining the cash on the table. "Hm, 300? She's very generous. And here I was thinking the customer usually paid the decorator. Is it by the week or the hour?" He smirked over at him, a mischievous glint in his eye that made Brian's stomach twist.

"Alright, that's it. You can go." Brian's cheeks lit up with shame as he sunk into the bed.

"Oh, don't be angry, I was only kidding." Roger snorted, pulling the robe closer around his body."I understand, trust me, I do. Fifty dollars for the powder room is how I get by, that and can fare. That’s another fifty. I understand completely."

Brian seemed to consider his words for a moment before sighing. "Fine, you can stay. Toss me my robe, I'll make you a drink."

"I'll make it myself. You must he exhausted." Roger chuckled, looking over his shoulder at Brian's unamused face. "It's late and you've had a long day of moving. Especially with that decorator friend."

"She's just a friend." Brian frowned, sitting up in his bed.

"Interesting friendship to have left you naked in bed with three months rent on the table." Roger quipped, a smirk on his face. "I have a few friends like that too, one's downstairs right now."

"With all due respect, I'm nothing like you." Brian crossed his arms over his chest, an annoyed look on his flushed face.

"Sure you're not." Roger sighed, pouring himself and Brian a drink. He wasn't sure if it was whiskey or not. Typically, he enjoyed vodka or a red wine, but he made do. Handing the drink to the flustered man, he shook his head. "There's no shame in it. Well, I guess there is in a sense, but you've got to do what you can to survive."

"I'm not a prostitute." Brian said firmly, staring up at him before taking a swig of his drink.

"What a dirty word there, Mr. May." Roger scoffed, sitting down at his table and looking at him. "I prefer 'escort'."

"So that's what you do? Sleep with men for a living?" Brian watched as the blond shrugged.

"I do it to live, yes. It's all I've got right now, but I've got bigger dreams than putting on dresses to get closeted men off. That's not much of a dream at all, really." Roger stared into the glass, moving it around to watch the amber liquid swirl. "And you? What do you do?"

"I'm a writer." Brian said, though Roger could hear the slight resentment in his words.

"Hm, anything else you do?" He asked, eyeing the guitar that sat in the corner.

"I'm just a writer, that's all." Brian shrugged, motioning towards the typewriter that sat in the table.

"Typewriter hasn't got a ribbon in it." Roger said, finally bringing his attention back to the man lying in his bed.

"I've been meaning to get one..." Brian looked away from the piercing blue eyes as if they could see right through him.

"I want to be a musician." Roger admitted, standing from the chair and walking to the bed. Before Brian could protest, Roger took a seat at the end. "I'm a drummer. I haven't got a kit, not anymore at least. I will one day, if I could just save up enough money to get the one at Timpani's."

"Can't find a cheaper one?" Brian asked, watching the blond chuckle and shake his head.

"Wouldn't be the same." He said, standing up once more to look at the guitar. "You're missing your g-string. And the low-e."

"Thought you were a drummer." Brian snorted.

"And I thought you were a story-book writer." Roger gave him a cheeky grin as he held up the notebook labeled 'lyrics'.

"It's a hobby. It'll never amount to anything. That's what my father says." Brian frowned, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"You don't know that. Fathers are often wrong." Roger sighed, flipping through the book. "Lyrics seem a bit royal, yeah? I have a friend who would like this. He's a bit of a queen himself, though he's engaged to a woman. Dear friend, really."

"Royal how?" Brian cocked an eyebrow, watching Roger chuckle to himself.

"You ask a lot of questions." He said, putting the book off to the side. "It's not an insult, I like them. I'd ask to hear one, but you've got a fucked up guitar. I'd get mine if it weren't for the man taking over my place."

Roger paced around the room, peeking into doors and examining the place as he went. With a small smile, he walked back toward the bed.

"I hope you don't find this strange, but you remind me a lot of my sister, Clare." Roger watched him curiously, approaching the bed. "She's off with the army now, she's a nurse for them. She's really kind and quiet, like you. At least, what I've seen of you."

"Is that so?" Brian smiled a bit at him, watching the blond turn his attention to the clock.

"Don't worry, I won't start calling you Clare." Roger chuckled, grabbing the clock and frowning. "Fuck! How is it four thirty already?"

"It's quite late, will you be alright to go home?" Brian watched the blonds face fall as he shook his head, staring down at his feet.

“Not unless I fancy sleeping on the fire escape tonight.” Roger sighed, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if I slid in there with you, would you? We are friends, right?”

“Sure,” Brian replied, scooting over in the bed to make room as Roger climbed in beside him.

“Thank you, Brian.” Roger yawned, scooting up into his side and resting his head right on the older mans chest. Brian bit back his surprise at the forward behavior and let the blond settle into his side. “Goodnight...”

“Goodnight.” He replied, watching as the smaller man drifted off. He looked quite peaceful in his sleep, no longer radiating the intense energy he did while awake.

Brian couldn’t fall asleep if he tried, his mind reeling as he watched him sleep. He found it alarming how beautiful he thought the man was, though he looked more boyish (rather girlish) with his soft features.

A soft whimper escaped the blonds mouth, his eyelashes fluttering softly as his face twisted. Brian soon felt him beginning to shake as the whimpers grew louder.

“No...” The sleepy voice said, “please, stop...Please, stop... No! No! Let me go!! Stop!!”

Brian pulled him closer as the sobbing grew heavy into his chest, Rogers tears pouring onto the exposed skin. “Shhh, it’s okay. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Roger, finally pulled out of his sleep, stared up at him with wide, scared eyes before quickly getting out of the bed. “I don’t like snoops, Brian. If we’re going to be friends, you should get that straight.” He said feverishly, tears still swimming in his eyes as he ran to the window and climbed out in a rushed, panicked manner.

Brian was left baffled, staring where the blond had departed and wondering where he had gone wrong.


End file.
